


The Detective and His Blogger

by Rosie_Sherlock_Watson



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 05:20:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10550742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosie_Sherlock_Watson/pseuds/Rosie_Sherlock_Watson
Summary: Just a little morning after fluff with a teeny tiny barely even really considered smut.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This is my first time ever writing fanfiction. It's just a little fluff piece, super short. Anyway, hope you like it!

He looked 10 years younger while he was sleeping. The dying afternoon light softening his features, changing them from sharp and striking to soft and innocent. What does a genius detective dream of, John wondered. Does the chaotic noise that must rage in his head during the day settle, and make way for a coherent single dream? Or do a million different, seemingly unconnected images flash behind his closed eyelids.

The urge to bend slightly and kiss those eyelids swell in John’s chest, but he settles for resting a hand in his hair, gently running his fingers through and delicately untangling the wild curls as he does. He felt as though Sherlock’s head on his chest and his leg thrown over his own should be hot and stifling, but instead he found himself enjoying it immensely. Using the arm trapped under Sherlock’s torso, he tugged his madman closer and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Closing his eyes, he replays the night before.

He was in desperate need of a case after finalizing his divorce from Mary. He needed something to distract him from the life that was never his, the child that was never his. Thankfully, Lestrade had showed up at their flat with a triple locked door murder. Sherlock had been working faster than normal, energised, John suspected, by the fact that his flatmate was finally free and no longer had any reason to pay attention to anything other than himself. It took him a full day to figure out who the murderer was and where to find him, resulting in a glorious chase through Central London. Much to John’s horror, however, he remembered the gunshots that rang out through the alley they corralled him in and the bullet that ricocheted off the wall. He ran a hand over the bandage that now covered Sherlock’s shoulder. It was just a graze, but it was enough to bring John to his senses.

As soon as Sherlock was released and back inside 221B, John had shoved him against the door of their flat, taking care with his shoulder, and snogged him until he had to come up for air.

“You reckless _arsehole_. I’m the one with the gun, I go first. You _never_ do that again, do you understand me? _Never_."

John only had a few precious seconds to savour the look of surprise on Sherlock’s face before claiming his mouth again. Sherlock returned the kiss with equal force and passion and they both moaned into each other’s mouths. Clothes were ripped off and flung throughout the living room and kitchen as they kissed their way through the flat and into Sherlock’s bedroom.

John smiled against Sherlock’s forehead as he felt the detective’s arm tighten around his waist, his hips undulating slowly against John’s upper thigh.

“Good afternoon, love.” John said, his voice muffled against Sherlock’s skin.

“Afternoon?” Gravelly from sleep, his baritone voice sounded even deeper than usual. It was _unbelievably_ sexy.

“Yes. We seemed to have slept in a bit.”

Sherlock peppered kisses John’s along jaw and up behind his ear. “Seeing as it’s too late to get anything really productive done, can we sleep in a bit more?”

“I can think of a few things that could be considered productive.”

“Can you?” Sherlock’s dipped impossibly lower, and it sent heat straight to his groin.

John growled in answer, tucking his finger under Sherlock’s chin and tipping is face up so he could kiss him properly. On it went like this, for hours, for days, for years. The detective and his blogger in 221B, right where they belonged, exactly as they belonged.


End file.
